Blank Pages of A Lie
by Special K the Great
Summary: Twenty years ago Sirius Black killed himself, thus rewriting history. Follows a History of Death from the views of many
1. Prologue

Hello everyone. I know, I know, I promised that _A History of Death_ would be the last peice in my story, but as someone who has been helping me work through it pointed out, I created a world full of problems and did nothing to solve said problems. Besides, I want to try something new, and I'm kind of wondering what you think of it. The second part should be up soon...hopefully. Buckle down. This might turn into a long one.

-SKG

**Blank Pages of a Lie**

_Prologue_

The dark haired boy in the red, gold, and black of Gryffindor House moves with liquid grace that his pinched-faced, fair haired counter part lacks. It's not that the boy in the green, silver, and black of Slytherin House is graceless, but his grace is of an aristocratic, haunty sort which pales to the other boy's smooth and continuous movements.

The dark haired one's face is cool, calm, while the other's face shows only frustration. He is losing, and they both know it. Their eyes are the exact same shade of grey, but the blonde's seem to be colorless. The dark haired one's eyes glitter like the icy snow on a sharp winter day, like the stars high in the night sky, and like the ripples on the lake at midnight. They burn with the self-righteous fury of a fallen angel.

When each had stepped onto the elevated stage in the center of the mad mass of students, they had approached each other from opposite ends with confident and strong footsteps. At the center they had bowed at their waists with their wands before them as custom demanded. The formalities of the occasion had been drilled into them since birth, but the dark haired one knew them best. Though they shared common blood, it was he who was of the line of Heirs, and as such was required in his youth to learn even the customs no longer acknowledged by most. Then both turned away and took ten steps away from the other. They waited a breath, turned, and raised their wands.

It had been then their duel began.

At first it had seemed as if the fair haired one had the upper hand; after all, it was he who cast the first spell. With a sharp cry in Latin, a shockingly purple energy blasted from his and, but the other boy simply flicked his wrist, and the magic dissipated. A wick and short sweeping motion sent the blonde tumbling backward a few steps.

Humbled, the blonde had returned to his feet. It was very apparent from then on just who was the better dueler.

The very way each moves demonstrates their skill! The blonde uses many snapping movements from his wrist as he casts. The brunette directs the motions of his wand from his fingertips, giving him more precise and quicker spells. His real talent is he casts all of his spells silently. It seems so natural, as if his body is merely a conduit for the magic. He makes the whole affair seem more a dance than a duel.

Around the raised stage and all around the Great Hall the stage had taken over the professors stand, waiting and watching intently. They knew the sort of magic the boys are capable of, and the magic the brunette is capable of is truly frightening to some of them.

The spells being cast are becoming increasingly more powerful, and proportionately more dangerous. Frustrated and a little embarrassed, the blonde snarls out a curse. For the first time in the duel, the spell connects with the dark haired boy. All the air leaves the boy's lungs as they collapse. Normally, this would end a duel since most wizards aren't capable of fighting entirely silently, but not the boy. Since he isn't using verbal spells, he can continue. His wand snaps quickly in a slash-like manner, and the blonde's extremities begin turning to stone. Before he can even think of a counter-spell, it spreads up his arms, freezing him in place.

The dark haired boy, however, knows the counter-spell to the hex plaguing him, and a simple swish of his wand allows his lungs to expand again. He has won the duel.

The gathered mass of pupils brakes into applause. Mixed in the bunch are a few in the same colors as he whooping in shared victory while others in the same colors as his opponent hiss out their displeasure. All, however, are amazed.

"Is this the best they could offer?" the dark haired boy murmurs too quiet for any to hear. Another flick of his wand reverses the spell, and he returns his precious instrument back to its special place inside a special pocket in the left sleeve of his robe. As the blonde's flesh returns to its normal state, he is already making his way off the stage and into a gaggle of his compatriots in red, gold, and black. He receives signs of approval from many—a thumps up, a clap on the back, shrill whistles, and more besides. A few even beg for him to teach them the art of dueling.

He finally stops beside a boy with the wildest, most uncooperative of hair and thin, round glasses. The green eyed boy offers him a smile and a nod, to which the dark haired both returns. From the other side of the crazy-haired boy a girl with frizzy hair and a smug, "I-really-do-know-it-all," sort of face frowns. She does not trust the dark haired boy, and she has more than enough reason to.

A boy with flaming red hair and more freckles than imaginable laughs and claps the dark haired boy on the back before laughing, "Maybe you should offer lessons! Maybe we'll learn something then." He winks at the crazy haired boy as he says this, and they indulge themselves in the joke.

Many pairs of eyes are on him, but the dark haired boy feels two in particular—the amberish eyes of a werewolf and the blackish eyes of a man, both of whom once meant the world to him, but now only invoke feelings of rage and abandonment.


	2. Draco

**Blank Pages of a Lie**

_Draco_

It's hard to find him when he's not surrounded by the honor-guard of adoring fans and well-wishers. He's the new, big celebrity, even bigger than Precious Perfect Potter who the rumors say the Dark Lord wants to kill personally. Father says Potter's mudblood mother and blood traitor father offended the Dark Lord, and deserve to die. Being merciful, the Dark Lord offered the two fools a chance to live, but of course they didn't take it. The idiots. Resisting his power is pointless. He will win.

But there he is, all alone. He's either an idiot or confident…maybe both, but most Gryffindors don't hang about the hallways leading down into the dungeons where we Slytherins call home. He's leaning against the cool stone, his lip pulled up at one corner in a smirk. His eyes—so much like mine and Mother's—are closed. He takes only little breaths. His long hair—dark like the Family's pedigree—is pulled back in a rich, red ribbon that contrasts vividly with the night-black strands. It's him.

My own face morphs into a sneer. I look down the hall each way, checking for eavesdroppers. There are none. Still feeling confident, I approach him. "Have you thought about my offer?" I ask.

"And which one would that be?" he asks softly instead of answers without bothering to open his eyes. His voice is level, and I can't hear any sort of inflection on it.

"Join Lord Voldemort," I urge. "With your talents, he'll reward you greatly." Though it pains me to say it, he is perhaps the best dueler I've ever seen…outside the Dark Lord of course.

"And what does the Dark Lord have that could possibly interest me?" How can he be so flippant? Foolish Gryffindor!

"Eternity," I answer. He will insure the world never forgets what we are trying to do—the utopia is possible, but first all the riff-raff and the undesirables most be pruned from the tree of life.

"You forget that I've already cheated death, Cousin. Forever does not interest me," he answers, now opening his eyes. They're sharper than I remember them being. He stares right through me, but I can't make myself look away from those memorizing eyes. "Ask yourself instead, 'What has the Dark Lord given me? Did he give me what he promised me?'" How dare he question the Dark Lord! The Dark Lord could make him beg for death, and so much more! He continues, "I ask you now is the reward truly worth the price? I barely know you, but already I worry for you. I beg you to take care. You are more similar to me than anyone—even you—can possibly realize." So he says. I've never tried to take the cowards' way and kill myself. "Be careful, Cousin, or you'll walk down the same path into damnation I did, but unlike me, you will not come back."

Rage is burning in my gut. Though eyes still stare through me, condemning me, judging me. How dare he! He can't possibly begin to understand…the Dark Lord is so much more powerful than any can imagine! Any who do not join him will die. He trusted me with a very important mission, but I haven't the slightest idea how to go about it. The Dark Lord wants the old coot Albus Dumbledore dead. He trusted me to do it! Father's so proud. I can't let him down…the punishment is far worst than anything Dumbledore could do to me.

The eyes light up with a sudden understanding. His lips curl all the way into a smirk. He can't possibly know this, can he? Someone would know if he's a legilimens, wouldn't they? Pettigrew told the Dark Lord about his friends' furry little secrets…an animagus and a legilimens…Those are no easy things to accomplish. "You will lose," he declares.

Oh, so now he's a seer too! Before I can grab my wand and hex him like he so deserves, he snaps his fingers and I can't move. The bastard! Wandless magic! That bastard!

He just walks away towards Gryffindor Tower, his footsteps echoing off the stone. Sirius Black, I promise you this, I don't care what Uncle Regulus will do, I will be the one to finally put you down like the mutt you truly are…even if I have to die to do it!


	3. Sirius

**Blank Pages of a Lie**

_Sirius_

My family are fools. Every one of them. To think out of thousands of years of existence there are only a precious few to escape the madness! My cousin has fallen for their lies. I only hope he sees that before it's too late. Regulus could help him, but Little Draco wouldn't let him even if he offers nicely.

My brother wouldn't offer nicely.

It's almost curfew, not that that has ever matter to me before, but most people are already in their Common Rooms as the rules demand. I'm left to traverse the halls alone. I like it better this way. There's less people I have to deal with. There's less people trying to worm their way into my good graces, as though I am someone to earn the approval of! The fools! If they knew the truth they would shun me.

Well, if you're still going to sing songs inside my head, I might as well enjoy a little conversation. Do you remember the Head Girl with the sugar sweet smile? I remember what she did to me. Does that help? I know who she is now, the bitch. She's here, as we speak. She's apprentice to Madam Pomfrey. If Dumbledore only knew… How can he let her have such a position which demands trust and care? Apparently I'm not the only boy she's tried to ruin. My nephew—Little Sirius Regulus Black—was almost another of her victims, but he came to me and I got revenge for the both of us before she could hurt him like she did me, before she could ruin him to the love of a woman. She and her husband have been trying to have a child, or so I hear, and what I hear is usually right. I insured she would never bare any one's children. She's unfit to be a mother. What she should do is rot somewhere surrounded by her own nightmares like I have. I have a feeling Remus knows what I did. Then again, he'd know better than anyone what my magic feels like…his hand is still useless.

Does it sound cruel to say I take pleasure in that? One of the earliest laws of man is, "an eye for an eye." They got their just rewards. She will never have the chance to ruin a child's life, and he will never touch me again.

Little Sirius knows not the beast he unleashed onto her. I plan to keep it that way. Regulus doesn't want him to know more than he should of the Family's dark secrets. I agree. They'll drive him mad as the rest of us. Little Sirius is a good boy.

Voices echo down the hall as I get closer to the Tower, and not just voices in my mind. The words at first are mere garble, but the voices are unmistakable.

"Harry, how can you not see it? He's dangerous! You saw what he did to Professor Lupin."

"I know Hermione, and I'm not asking you for permission!" he shouts back. Harry's such a good boy—reckless, just like James…just like me. He has more bravery than he does brain.

"I'm not saying, 'don't have anything to do with him,' Harry! I'm just saying you should be careful! There's something clearly very wrong about all of this!" she urges. I can hear the desperation in her voice.

"Are you calling him crazy?"

Well, she wouldn't be wrong.

"No! But you know he was using the Dark Arts when he hurt Professor Lupin!"

My lips curl upward. Silly girl, such a busy body. She thinks she knows about everything. She's clever, I'll give her that, but she's still only a muggle-born. Magic is still surreal to her. She hasn't learned that all magic can be used for dark purposes. For example, I could _scorgify_ someone until their skin is cleaned away from their bones. Doesn't that sound pleasant? Maybe I could banish someone's heart. She still has yet to learn it is all about intentions.

Besides, my little bone-crushing friend isn't even on the list of spells the Ministry, before it fell to the Dark Lord anyway, prohibits. I did nothing wrong. Then again, some spells are only not considered to fall under the broad range of the Dark Arts simply because the Ministry didn't want to acknowledge that they were real.

"I know that, Hermione!" he answers back again, clearly agitated. Poor little boy. "Mum and Dad wouldn't trust him around me if they thought he might be dangerous."

"But that was before he hurt—"

"Maybe Uncle Moony deserved it."

Oh, Harry! The patches of flesh you liked to leave your mark upon twinge with memories of twisted sheets and tangled limbs. You were so sweet and gentle. I love so, and by Zeus, the almighty father of the Heavens, I beg you run! My love is something neither you or I need or want! It ends only badly.

"How can you say that?" she asks in quiet shock.

Perhaps it is best if I interrupt…now. "Hello," I greet pleasantly as I stride towards them. "Pleasant evening for a stroll," I continue, and through the window to the outside I can see the storm raging as the wind whips the trees and hails pounds against the glass. Beautiful.

She glares at me, knowing I've overheard at least part of their conversation, but of how much she cannot be certain. Harry smiles when he sees me. Foolish boy. Why do I love him again?


	4. Severus

_To Pandora, for without whom, this would not have come to be._

**Blank Pages of a Lie**

_Severus_

Despite all of Regulus' bold proclamations of redecorating and proposed changes to make to his ancient ancestral home, Number 12 Grimmould Place has not changed since the last I came here over ten years ago for the celebration of the birth of his son. It still reeks of dark magic and is decorated in all the old emblems of his family. There is the row of the severed heads of the old House Elves that once served House Black over the stairs. Silver chandlers shaped like snakes hang from the ceiling of every room. Green, the color most associated with Purebloods, decorates each room. The feeling of malice and the barest hint of the scent of decay clings upon everything. Still, Number Twelve Grimmould Place is one of the finest displays of the ancient power of the old families. The house itself is as much a symbol of status as is the name Black. It will endure for as long as the family does.

The worst thing in that house is still the portrait of the late Walburga Black. I can feel the black coldness of her eyes burn into me as I pass. If ever anyone sought an explanation behind the Black Family madness, one would have to look no farther than to this woman. She was the prime and most perfect example of the insanity that plagued and still plagues the family. What she did to her first son is without redemption. The agony she caused is incomprehensible.

Regulus' little waif of a wife leads me to her husband's study and she shivers as she passes the portrait. She never got along with the late Lady Black. Walburga was a harpy.

She looks tired and a little haggard, but she still retains the youthful looks that had first captured the attention of her husband. Nicole's always been a tiny thing, but it seems as if she's painfully thin. She worries—for Regulus, for Sirius, for her best friend who ran across the sea, for her son, and even for me.

The Dark Lord's paranoia makes him strike out at any and everyone he conceives to be a traitor or a foe. Every moment my existence is assured only by his faith that I am loyal only to his command. I fear for the day that he learns the truth. I fear for the day that all hope is lost.

The Lady of House Black does not bother to knock at the door. She opens it without preamble or announcement. This is not a social call or even proper business. No one is to know that I am here, not even the servants.

If Nicole is only thin, then Regulus is truly gaunt. He sits at his desk with a letter in hand. He looks up as we enter and nods his greetings. His visage is strained; he does not smile nor does he frown. Without a word Nicole leaves and closes the door behind her as if she was never there at all.

"It has been some time since last we spoke," Regulus starts, rising from his chair. He sets the letter down on his desk in plain view. Clearly he wishes to discuss something in it or else he would have hidden it from sight. "Please, have a seat," he continues, gesturing to the slightly less grand chairs on the other side of his massive masterwork of a desk.

Though I take the offered seat, he does not sit down again. Instead he paces. The crease between his eyebrows is more pronounced, as are the lines around his mouth. Something has unsettled the mighty Lord Black.

"Why have you called me?" I demand. My absence alone will raise unseemly questions. I have no time to waste waiting for him to decide that he is ready to speak. Officially, I am not here, so why should I obey decorum?

"That letter is from Lucius," he starts, a half-smirk erupting over his features. "He demands that I should better control my brother. It appears that he has put _ideas_ inside little Draco's head."

I nod. The Dark Lord of late has pressured Regulus to bring Sirius into the fold. Of course Sirius will not, but how can Regulus give "nay" as an answer to his master? A conspirator he may be, Regulus is no fool. To say nay to the Dark Lord means death. Malfoy has approached Sirius several times with the offer, but each time fails to secure his accordance. "And what sort of ideas would those be?"

"Lucius claims that Sirius has suggested that our Lord is no more than a deceiver who promises much but gives nothing," Regulus answers, his French lit giving the words a sharp flair. "So much like my brother, isn't it? Lucius goes on to say that Sirius claims the Dark Lord will be defeated."

"Do you doubt?" I ask. Regulus has too much to lose to risk for something he is not sure of.

"No," he answers. "I believe he will be, and in there lies my fault," he sighs. "There is something Dumbledore had not trusted us with that keeps us from seeing the answer, and each of my theories I pray are not the truth."

"And your theories?"

The room seems to darken before he even speaks. The portrait of the late Lord Orion Black glowers over his son's shoulder ominously. I'm suddenly struck by how much Regulus looks like his father…how much like his brother. I always knew how alike all the Blacks are—almost like mirrors …lips, noses, eyes, cheeks…they all share the same features—but now it truly is apparent.

"A Horcrux," he says in a low voice, urgent with the power and darkness of what it is he is suggesting. A terrible cold feeling tightens in my chest right around what is left of my heart. "Or more than one. Either way I pray I am wrong," Regulus admits, his voice still quiet. His face is blank, but in his eyes shines a weight a man his age should not carry. For the love of all things, he is younger still than I am! He even has more grey in his hair now than I. I sit straighter in my chair and my eyes never leave Regulus.

"You are sure?" I ask, though I know he wouldn't dare voice that theory unless he was. A Horcrux is not something to take lightly. There is little magic that is darker than that.

"I wish I was not," he confesses, the muscle just at the corner of his lip now tensing without him realizing—the one tick he could never control. "And I know where it is," he says softly. "There's a cave by the sea… that's where he has it."

"How can you know?" I demand. When dealing in things this dark, there can be no room for guesswork. Only absolutes can be trusted. "Which cave? Where? There are many caves. How can you even be certain?"

"Because years ago he used Kreacher to take it there."

"Kreacher? Your blasted elf?" I ask. That thing is still alive? If it is the elf is ancient and as insane as the family it so fanatically serves. Regulus's eyes narrow. He's always been unnaturally fond of that elf. "How can you be certain that its there?" I press again.

"Because the Dark Lord is arrogant enough to believe that the defenses he left there would insure no one could enter or escape."

"Then how did your—"

"Because I told him to come home," Regulus says in a low voice. "We can cripple him, Severus. I know it. We might not deliver the coup de grâce, but we may bring him to his knees with out him even knowing." There is a tone to his voice I've never heard from him. He sounds…like Sirius did before.

"We'd die despite all our work," I challenge.

"You heard the prophecy, and don't lie and say you didn't," he orders before I can even part my lips. His grey eyes blaze with a foreign fire. "You were there. I know it. You know it is either the Longbottom's boy or Dear Lily's son who will battle him in the end, but either can ever win unless we can make him mortal again."

"How did you know about the prophecy?" I demand. Dumbledore swore me to secrecy, and he doesn't trust Regulus enough to tell him of its contents.

"The Dark Lord has it, Severus. He has had it since he took control of the Ministry. How long has it been since you were part of the inner most circle?" He asks. "All of us know—Bella, Lucius, Cissy, and all the most faithful. He laughed about it, Severus. He was in peels over it," the head of the most powerful family in all of England hisses in anger. "We must do this. It's our duty."

"Better to live to fight," I say, reminding him of one of his own favorite maxims.

"Dumbledore knows!" Regulus shouts suddenly. He never shouts. Not ever. Not even once. His careful mask is gone. "He knows, and he does nothing. He's playing a dangerous game and we are his pawns in his match with the Dark Lord. You know it, Severus. How can you not?"

"I will not sacrifice myself for this," I say, rising to my feet.

"Then why did you even come if you will do nothing!" Regulus rages at me, his grey eyes aflame still. "Is this what you are, Severus? A coward?"

"How dare you accuse me of cowardice!" I hiss back. "Dying for this is senseless. You've offered me no proof of what you're suggesting, and you expect me to follow you blindly? Perhaps you have forgotten, but blind faith is what has brought our world to its knees!"

"I ask you to help me, Severus," he says softly, the fire now small in his gaze. He has admitted the one thing a Black will never say. "I ask you to help me because I thought I could trust you. I thought you out of all those fighting Him would be most eager to see His fall. Perhaps I am mistaken. You know the way to the doors," he continues. "Au revoir."

He turns back to his desk and sits gracefully back into his chair as though exchange has not happened. I can't help but hate him suddenly. He is my closest ally and perhaps my closest friend, yet I hate him. How dare he think my commitment less than his! How dare he assume I am not brave enough to see our mission through to its end! "Is it so wrong of me to want to live?"

A tight and bitter smile comes across his face, but he does not look up. "I will go and destroy it, without if I must. I charge you with the keeping of my house until my son is of age."

"And your brother?" I ask.

He does not—or will not—answer. "Nicole will not understand. She will do something foolish. Do not let her."

Whatever it is he is planning, I do not like it. "Don't be idiotic, Regulus. This is madness. You will throw away everything you've ever worked for."

"Everything I ever worked for will be achieved if I succeed in this, Severus. It isn't death I fear if I should fail. It is what waits after," he admits. This eve he was been more open and forward than he has been in a long time. It isn't like Regulus. He bottles and broods. Sirius lashes out.

"When did you start believing in such nonsense?"

"How can you not believe it when you know what my brother—the one, I may remind you, you claim to love and want to save—has gone through? How can you stand here and not fear what waits for you? We're traitors, Severus. There's a special place Hades keeps in Tartarus for people like us, and we are never forgiven," he answers, meeting my eyes again. There is darkness now in his eyes. "Perhaps this will alive my suffering. I have nothing more to say to you."

And there is nothing that can be said to him.


	5. Sirius part ii

**Blank Pages of a Lie**

_Sirius_

I hate this existence, and I hate it more with every passing moment.

I feel their eyes on me—watching, always watching. Some eyes seek my flesh beneath my clothes while others map my every move. I hate them both, and I know not which I hate more. I think perhaps I hate most those that do not look.

The old man plays a game with a foe every bit as skilled, and I am merely only one of the pieces cast out onto the board. But I'll be damned it I remain a lowly pawn! He expects me to sit and do as I'm told just like a good puppet and to let those who know better decide my fate. Ha! Who knows better than I the evils of the world? Who? Who indeed! I've been to hell and I've seen all the demons of mankind and I've felt their jagged, stinging bites! I am the one who has beaten death beyond what rational reasoning can explain.

Dumbledore may be a powerful wizard beyond the limits of most imagining, but even he can't grant me back all I've lost. Even he can't turn back enough time to fix all the ills of the world.

And they can't even leave me now to my bitterness! She stands waiting for me, smugness oozing from her every pore. It's as though she's convinced of my damnation and waits now to cast judgment on my soul. Doesn't she know I've already been found wanting? Why else would the gods have thrown me so coldly back to this pit? Now she stands between me and my one sanctuary—the silent room of knowledge where all the answers I seek lie. I'm almost certain I found a way to liberate Padfoot from the dark recesses of my mind, but the book is forbidden to me for now.

"I'm on to you," the buck-tooth girl-woman crowned by a halo of twisting hair frizzed every-which way declares, fixing me with as cold a glare as she is capable.

"And what, pray tell, is there anything on me for which you to be onto?" I ask, taking pleasure in the frustration she now embodies. Her lip trembles with the realization she does not intimidate me, despite being one of Dumbledore's favorite pieces. She never even had a chance. Her worse nightmare is nothing more than a pleasant revelry for me, a balm from the weight of this realm of Tartaras.

"I know what you did to Professor Lupin," she decrees, lifting herself as though she was somehow superior to me. "Harry doesn't need you distracting him. Leave him alone."

"Perhaps you should instruct Harry to leave _me_ be. I am not the one seeking his company, yet it is to my bed he crawls. He's so like to his father in that regard, but unlike his father, James was always content for a few kisses," I mock her, offering her my most charming smile.

"I won't tell you again, you lying demon of a boy," she starts. "Leave Harry be, or I'll—"

"You'll what?" I challenge. "What horrors can you possibly do onto me I've not already seen?"

She pulls back a hand as though she would strike me. Surprising her I grab her hand from the air and brush my thumb over the soft skin of her hand. Her skin is soft like all scholars' hands. Blue veins lie under it. "How truly fragile we all are. It was with this hand I shattered his. Did you know?" I ask her softly, my voice a whisper. She doesn't pull away, so well caught in my spell, mindless in the wake of my touch like so many others. A pity. I thought she could have offered me a better fight.

"Remember, little girl, I could break you, too," I tell her, offering her the same smile, and with a manic gleam in my eye, I caress the curve of her jaw. "Let this be our little secret," I continue, my smile sliding to a clandestine smirk.

My harsh touch of my favor, after all, is worse than the sweet bite of my rancor.

Letting her hand drop, I turn away and enter the room filled with rows and rows of volumes to the last with any answers to any quandary of curious minds. I have greater worries than that of a meddling schoolgirl who thinks she knows best. She still stands stone still where I left her, holding a hand to the spot I stroked, and her eyes never leave the hand I held so tender.

It's always the same. I'm nothing more than a pretty doll to any of them. Pull a string and watch me dance! Little do they know that I have a few tricks of my own! I hate them all.

Little Sirius Regulus decked in his blue and bronze turns from round an isle as I enter and his distracted frown morphs into an elated countenance. "Uncle!" he cheers, never mind the edict of silence, and he rushes toward me, innocent to the magic I had weaved over the girl.

I smile indulgently as he borrows his face into the front of my robes and seeks what comfort he may gather from my presence. His hair is sweet and clean, and he is warm against me. "I got a letter today from Father," he babbles, his face still buried in my outer most cloak.

"And what does he say?" I ask, petting his hair dark as my own.

"He told me to keep an eye on you!" he laughs. "Incredible, isn't it? I mean, _me_ watching over _you_!"

"Your father is a queer one," I offer, smiling wide still. He's so young…

There is another set of eyes watching from across the room. It is an amber set of eyes whose gaze is perhaps the most familiar to me of all. I can feel on my skin the weight of that stare as though it were a tangible thing. Think me not paranoid! I am hunted by a most dangerous of beasts! Those eyes have never left me…not in so many long years. That hungry, wolfish gaze racks down my body as though I am no more than a lamb in the mouth of the lion.

Instead of crippling the wolf's paw, I should have taken its sight.

"I'm sure you're hard at work," I say to Little Sirius. "Go on, Little Star. What trouble could I get into here?"

"Alright Uncle. I love you," he says, smiling up at me with teeth snow white. He releases me and goes on his way to a table manned by others in the array of Ravenclaw.

With my nephew safely surrounded by his peers, I turn my attention to the watching eyes and offer him a smug, secretive grin. I approach him calmly at an even pace. He dares not try anything here were there are so many other sets of watching eyes. I can almost see his ears go back and his ruff rise as I near his table. "Hello, Professor," I say pleasantly. "Lovely day, isn't it?" I add, gesturing to the now clear, blue sky outside the window. "Too bad about the cold."

"What do you want?" he demands, all bite. His hand is still braced against his chest—useless.

"It's so unfortunate that Madam Pomfrey couldn't relieve you of that pain," I remark. "And your wand hand even! How truly problematic."

"If you've come to gloat—"

"Merely to inquire after an…_old friend_," I interrupt, all sugar sweet and with claws extended. "Do you mind if I join you, Professor?" I ask as a courtesy before slipping into the chair across from him.

He says not a word bur fixes me with a cool stare. So cold! Ha. And yet he still loves me so. The bruises and bites on my neck may have healed, but I can still feel the powerful throbbing under my skin of his claim over me. Werewolves may not mate for life, but they always have their favorites…

I brush my hair back from my neck and let him drink in the vision of my bare, fragile skin. My smile turns seductive as I whisper, "Maybe I could help you where she could not. My father taught me many things after all."

He shakes his head to clear the influence of my charm. Let him try. "Why are you doing this?" he whispers, almost sounding as if he was in pain.

"I need a favor, actually. In return for it, I could give you back your hand…or maybe there is something else you want from me? One last night, perhaps?"

"You are so cruel," he continues, "and yet I still want you. Oh, Merlin, why did I ever fall for a creature as harsh and lovely as you, Sirius? You say I hurt you, and you say I turned you into this like you had no choice in the matter. If only you could see the way you are instead of trying to cast blame onto everyone else," he says softly, reaching out to touch my face.

His words shake me harder than I thought they would. I slap hiss hand out of the air before he can touch me. "Stop playing this game with me!" I demand.

"Oh, but Sirius, you started it," he mocks.

"I wonder…when you laid down with my cousin, did you ask her to let her hair be dark and long, her skin be milk white, her eyes be grey, and her face be mine? Did you ever howl out my name as you filled her with your seed? How many other nameless, faceless wretches have you, in your minds eye, seen wearing my guise? When have you ever stopped when I begged you to?" I demand harshly. "You may have forcibly taken part of my soul, but you know not of anything I've experienced. You thing you were my first?" I snap. "Not even. I was twelve, and it was the head girl, the very same who now works under Madam Pomfrey. She ruined me before you even thought of my flesh," I hiss.

"And there rears your ugly mind and Black heart," he says. "Leave me be. I want nothing from you."

"You will always want me," I tease. "Lie to yourself all you want, but you know I am right."

"That might be so," he admits, 'but now I really see you, the corrupt, little horror of a demon that you are, and not the ideal cupid I conjured."

"Very well. I shall see if Severus will assist me. He always did have a weakness for me," I add, a little surreptitious grin curved across my lips. I rise and turn away, but before I can take a step, I feel the warm fingers curl around my wrist.

"Why must you torment me so?" he begs.

"Because I hate you so, dearest lover," I answer pleasantly, "and I love you so. Because it was you who held me and you who hurt me. For all the warmth and the cold you have shown me, that is why I plague you like a thousand pinpricks," I continue with a white grin and honeyed voice.

His grip slackens. I slip away.


End file.
